Day won, this past is windswept. We piled high into minivan morrison and left for Philly and the unguessable night that would ensue. Our first show was booked at a house party, somewhere, the details were fuzzy and our previous two bookings had fallen through, so down we went into the stew, our first show a mystery and vague knowledge of a place to stay. The afternoon was beautiful, Or had shaved half of his head, we didn't have insurance on the rental and no one in the van was technically allowed to drive it; but the afternoon was beautiful.
For me this was walking into an idea, we didn't have money, stability or any kind of notoriety, and at this point half the band didn't even know each other... ok, maybe the whole band. But it seemed like a good idea and now it was happening so we get out of Minivan Morrison and we're at our digs for the night and they're getting details on the show and will be the first angels we meet on the road. And our angels direct us a bit outside of the city to what they describe as a frat house that the fraternity owns only to party in. Though that would be a fairly massacre themed party, and it was.
We first met the squatter, who was our guide through the mayhem. He'd been staying there for several months and gave Fernelly a detailed history of the house and Philly through the fisheye. Oh my, the sinks are filled with a pustule pinkbrown with plungers protruding, tags on the walls 'death to cops,' and someone is peeing in the foyer.
We'll be playing in the basement so we haul the hundreds of pounds of equipment, which we would get so efficient carrying, down a tight leaning thin wood stairwell. Below everything is dayglow, pizza boxes and beer bottles and juice cartons from the '90s are cement in every corner of the cellar. Upstairs we hear the rain start, and then the thunder, and then the humans begin to arrive. And the music starts, and we claw at each other like a thousand legged dog trying to figure himself out within the walls and the strobing light and it is so dark and we are so loud.
After we negotiate reloading in the downpour we roll slowly back into Philly only to unload once more into the living room that we realize won't fit all of us. It is late and we are all wounded. Calls are made and a miracle is made and we head down the street with our bags and our big umbrellas into a stranger's den and largess basement and Abi crashes immediately on the sofa as the rest of us find respite and soap in the basement. And Barry and I look at one another and wonder if every day is going to be like this, knowing full well we won't survive, but we're too pissed off to speak. So it's bedtime, and Philly broke us in.
For me this was walking into an idea, we didn't have money, stability or any kind of notoriety, and at this point half the band didn't even know each other... ok, maybe the whole band. But it seemed like a good idea and now it was happening so we get out of Minivan Morrison and we're at our digs for the night and they're getting details on the show and will be the first angels we meet on the road. And our angels direct us a bit outside of the city to what they describe as a frat house that the fraternity owns only to party in. Though that would be a fairly massacre themed party, and it was.
We first met the squatter, who was our guide through the mayhem. He'd been staying there for several months and gave Fernelly a detailed history of the house and Philly through the fisheye. Oh my, the sinks are filled with a pustule pinkbrown with plungers protruding, tags on the walls 'death to cops,' and someone is peeing in the foyer.
We'll be playing in the basement so we haul the hundreds of pounds of equipment, which we would get so efficient carrying, down a tight leaning thin wood stairwell. Below everything is dayglow, pizza boxes and beer bottles and juice cartons from the '90s are cement in every corner of the cellar. Upstairs we hear the rain start, and then the thunder, and then the humans begin to arrive. And the music starts, and we claw at each other like a thousand legged dog trying to figure himself out within the walls and the strobing light and it is so dark and we are so loud.
After we negotiate reloading in the downpour we roll slowly back into Philly only to unload once more into the living room that we realize won't fit all of us. It is late and we are all wounded. Calls are made and a miracle is made and we head down the street with our bags and our big umbrellas into a stranger's den and largess basement and Abi crashes immediately on the sofa as the rest of us find respite and soap in the basement. And Barry and I look at one another and wonder if every day is going to be like this, knowing full well we won't survive, but we're too pissed off to speak. So it's bedtime, and Philly broke us in.
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